District III
Back in District III, Rolo sat outside alone.
It had been more than an hour since Shakes left.
Quiet.
Still.
Waiting.
Then Cindy joined him. She didn't say a word—she didn't have to. She simply sat beside him, hands folded in her lap.
She knew.
"Oh dear… I should have known better," she thought, watching the little robot's stillness with quiet concern.
"Will he be back?" Rolo asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Cindy sighed, not out of frustration, but sorrow.
"I... I don't know. Shakes never forgave himself for all he did. Havery had a way—he always got what he wanted, used people like pieces on a board. We were all pulled into the game… but Shakes, he carried the loss, like Harry once did. Heavy things, too heavy for one soul."
Rolo turned slightly, his head tilted with mechanical precision.
"He never got to have tea," Rolo murmured. "Do you think… he would have liked it?"
Cindy smiled, though her eyes glistened.
"Yes. I bet he would have. Maybe more than he knew. Tea has a way of slowing the world down. Of reminding you… you're not alone."
Rolo's head gave a soft click as he processed her words.
"Home… Where is home?" he asked, suddenly.
Cindy blinked. The question hit deeper than she expected.
"Hmm. Home is—"
"Is home where tea is made?" Rolo interrupted, innocently.
She laughed—a real one this time, surprised and soft.
"Well… for you, maybe. But it's also where you belong. Where you're accepted. Where you are known—flaws and all. Home is where your heart is, Rolo. And yes… robots have hearts too. Just… different kinds."
Rolo paused, his lenses adjusting as he turned toward her.
"Am I home?" he asked again, slower this time, like it truly mattered.
Cindy didn't hesitate.
She reached out and gently took his cold, metal hand in hers.
"Yes, Rolo. You're home. You have all of us here. We're one big, dysfunctional, wonderful family."
"Family… a group of people who share a common—"
"Not just people," Cindy interrupted gently. "We're all connected in one way or another. We share something greater. Whether born of blood, or wire, or circumstance. We all feel loss. We all long to belong. Imperfect, messy… alive."
Rolo blinked. Something in his inner coding warmed.
"I understand," he said softly. "Then it is settled. I shall get Shakes back—just in time for one last cup of tea!"
"What? Rolo, what are you talking about?" Cindy asked, startled.
But the little robot had already stood.
He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, ushering her back inside.
"Don't worry. You go to bed. I shall bring Shakes back in no time, Mother. He's going to be so excited when he sees me."
"Are you sure about this? It could be dangerous—"
"Nonsense, madam! I will be completely fine. Rolo shall be what you always say—diplomatic! And I am absolutely certain that if I prepare my Top Super Secret Special Tea Brew, everything shall be restored."
He tucked her into bed with clumsy grace, covering her with a blanket and placing a warm cloth over her eyes—something he'd seen in an old film once.
Cindy smiled.
"Thank you, Rolo."
"Goodnight, Mother."
Rolo turned to leave, but froze at the door.
"Oh dear…" he said quietly, looking around. "I don't know the way."
Thus began the curious, chaotic, and brave journey of Rolo—the manual robot with a soft heart and hopeful circuits—asking one passerby after another, bumping into people, dodging electric rickshaws, tripping over sidewalk droids, and offering endless apologies like:
"Excuse me! Diplomatic emergency!"
"Pardon my cogs, madam!"
"I require tea leaves and directions to the last known location of a very sad man!"
Above him, the stars shimmered—bright, imperfect, and eternal.
Somewhere out there, Shakes wandered, lost in guilt and silence.
And Rolo—little Rolo—was on his way.
With a tin heart full of hope,
And a plan only he could understand.